A Series of 'Ideal' Situations
by ArwenJaneLilyLyra
Summary: In all honesty, standing with no weapons, while being held at gunpoint by your oldest friend's dead wife, would never be what Arthur could consider an ideal situation. A series of not so ideal situations that Arthur finds himself in.
1. Situation One

A Series Of 'Ideal' Situations

**A series of not so ideal situations that Arthur finds himself in.**

Situation One

In all honesty, standing with no weapons while being held at gunpoint by your oldest friend's dead wife, would never be what Arthur could consider an ideal situation. For the most part, he has never had need to worry about working with Dom. The older man is clever, single-minded, loyal, and brave; all admirable qualities to have when working in the difficult profession they partake in.

But this is not good.

From the moment Mal first appeared, Arthur had known this was going to end badly. That much was clear. He knows seeing her face tortures Dom, but the fact is, Mal is a projection of Dom's; in the end, she isn't going to hurt him.

The gun is inches from his temple, and Mal's hand does not shake, despite the weight. Dom's eyes meet Arthur's and an understanding sparks between them, the same understanding that has passed between the pair countless times.

It's a strange feeling, silently pleading with your friend for him to kill you. It's a feeling Arthur will never grow used to, especially when he sees the reluctance in Dom's expression, invisible to most, but not to him. That's when fear turns to anger. The fear that Dom won't do it turns to anger at the thought of Dom preferring to let him be in pain simply to ease his own mind.

Mal speaks, her voice soft and even somewhat gentle as she cocks the gun.

Dom tells her it's useless threatening her in a dream, and Mal responds sweetly.

"That depends on what you're threatening."

Arthur internally thanks Dom for bringing Mal even closer to shooting him just to prove a point.

"Killing him will just wake him up."

_Yes it will_, Arthur thinks urgently, mind racing as he prepared for the momentary blackness before he wakes from the dream.

"But pain…"

Arthur's heart sinks. He keeps his expression neutral as the aim moves from his head to his leg, but he can't help the scream of agony as the bullet drives straight into his leg. His knee buckles and the body guards holding his arms back are all that keep him from collapsing onto the floor. Mal is speaking again but he can't concentrate, he clings desperately to his sanity, trying to regain his cool. The guards are keeping him upright, so he takes the weight from his injured leg and forces the muscles in his face to change their contorted expression into one of unaffected calm.

Then the gun again. She aims for the second leg and he closes his eyes against the agony. Dom leaps forward and he opens them once more.

Their eyes meet. No more than a second, but they meet. Dom raises the gun and pulls the trigger before guilt can waver his resolve. He must kill his friend to save him.

Arthur sees the chambers of the gun pointing at him, and no more.

Dom watches as Arthur's head snaps back from the force of the shot, a hole in his forehead and blood pools. He is dead.

And for a moment, Dom relives, as he does every time he kills someone close to him, those second between jumping and falling as Mallorie Cobb chose the fate he unwittingly decided for her.

He leaves Arthur's body behind as bullets fly and shots fire.

He's awake now, anyway.


	2. Situation Two

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Situation Two

Arthur wasn't raised to be a competitive person, but that didn't stop him from growing up to be one. After a few years of extraction jobs, Arthur learnt that the extent of his competitiveness was reserved for a select few people.

One of those people had been introduced to him by Dom. His name was Eames, and Arthur had decided within minutes of knowing the man that he hated him.

Well, perhaps hate is a bit too strong. He intensely disliked him, and found him unbearable.

There was something about the suave arrogance of the man that really got under his skin, the way he could charm his way into getting out of sticky situations, and could be careless and still get the job done. It infuriated him.

Only dedication to Dom and fondness for Phillipa and James had the ability to induce him to carry on with the job alongside Eames. Oh, and of the course the beautiful young woman with the Greek name and overwhelming talent for architecture work…

"So, you think you got everything?" Arthur asks, and Ariadne nods, tongue poking between her lips in concentration. She stands close to him, their hips almost touching as they run through example blue prints, pencils worn to stubs from all the notes covering them.

"Don't worry, you're a natural, you'll be perfect. And remember, you want to practice anytime, just ask, I'll give you a hand." He grants the young woman one of his rare, genuine smiles, and Ariadne places a hand on his arm as she replies,

"Thanks, Arthur. I think I've got it." She begins skimming through plans again, and Arthur smiles. She reminds him a lot of himself when he first started.

Not that he has changed much over the years; nothing gets in his way once a job grabs hold of him.

"Well, if you ever need anything…" he says, but he is interrupted by a soft chuckle that Ariadne turns at, and he cringes at. The upper class, lilting accent of one Mr Eames carries through the room, the slow, even footsteps echoing a little.

"Eames," the man says to the young woman, kissing Ariadne's hand, and she introduces herself similarly.

" A pleasure," Eames says, and Arthur rolls his eyes at the light blush staining Ariadne's cheek. "Ahh, good to see you again, darling," Eames says, smile widening into a smirk. Arthur's eyes narrow and he returns to his work without saying a word. Eames leans over to Ariadne, who is looking from one man to the other, brow furrowed in confusion. "He doesn't like me very much."

To Arthur's dismay, Ariadne looks…_surprised_? As if the thought of someone disliking the arrogant sod of a man was a shock.

"Do you know…" Eames continues, and he leans into Ariadne's ear to whisper something secretive and no doubt untrue. The young woman giggles and her eyes flick to Arthur for a moments before turning around to look into Eames' dark blue eyes. The man nods, as if confirming something, causing Ariadne to chuckle even louder.

Arthur rolls his eyes and reigns in his temper, ever the cool mask of indifference in place.

The whispers continued, and Arthur gritted his teeth as it became clear Ariadne was growing more and more interested in the older man.

Some times life seemed to hate Arthur. Or perhaps it was Eames that did that.


	3. Situation Three

**Thanks very much to Venitia for your lovely reviews, now just a few other people who might be kind enough to drop a few words? Come on people, if it's worthy of alerts/favourites, it's worthy of a review, right?  
**

**Also, no offence intended by the phrase 'English twat'. I'm English myself, so you can be rest assured I don't mean it ;)**

Situation Three

If there is one thing Arthur cannot stand – besides the charming smile of Mr Eames, of course – it's humiliation. Especially humiliation that he doesn't deserve.

So as Dom growls angrily at him, Saito bleeding copiously at the shoulder, Arthur cannot help but feel resentment bubbling inside him. How dare he? How very well dare he speak to him in such a way? Dom knows fine well Arthur is the best Point Man in the business, and Arthur has just enough arrogance to know it.

So why is being treated with such little respect?

And just to make things so much easier, he can practically _hear_ the victory bells ringing around Eames' head. But, cool as ever, he grits his teeth and bears it.

He has put everything into this job. It is of no consequence to him. He'll be able to go home no matter the outcome – granted Saito doesn't hire a couple of hit men if they fail – he is doing this all for Dom. Well, for Phillipa and James as well, he supposes. And Mal, anything to get rid of the haunting Mal that still stalks Dom's dreams, artificial or real. That's if Dom still dreams at all.

Arthur considers this for a moment, the possibility that Dom _doesn't_ dream anymore. That's the dangerous point, Arthur knows that too well. Even now, when he is totally immersed in a job, he can feel the remnants of his dreams starting to slip from him, as slowly he is sucked into the other world, where everything is possible, and dying doesn't kill you.

But he is being sidetracked, the task at hand. Yes. The Fischer job.

He turns his attention back to Dom, his eyes flitting briefly to Saito, and still Cobb is telling him how this is all his fault.

Has Dom forgotten the minor detail about _his_ misjudgement? What was it again...oh yes, that's right, how they're stuck in limbo if they die. That minor detail.

Fury is itching at Arthur's fingers, his characteristic frown set deeply into his face. Well, if killing won't wake him up, at least that will mean he doesn't have to worry about Dom's capability (or lack of) when it comes to shooting him in the head. The sounds of gunfire are still bellowing from all around the warehouse they've escaped into, and Arthur can see Ariadne is close to panicking point, trying desperately to hold it together like the others are just about doing. He glances around at the others to see what's being done by them about the situation.

Eames, the son of a bitch, is smiling at him.

Flatly ignoring the English twat, Arthur grabs the nearest gun and walks calmly over to the doorway, aiming straight out of the window and firing twice. He ducks out of the way as the man hidden out of sight reciprocates with enthusiasm, smashing the window above Arthur, who flinches as a shard of glass nearly falls through his collar and into his shirt.

This is not going at all according to plan.

He fires again, wondering idly what they would do if he was to be shot. Dom might have called him a few names, but that didn't mean he didn't know all too well that the job was dead without a Point Man when this early on in the game. Especially given that the next dream was going to be Arthur's…

Arthur feels the whizzing air of a bullet skimming past him, almost undetectable, but Arthur has always been one to notice the little things, such as near fatal shots narrowly avoiding his chest. He returns his attention to the task at hand, aiming with excellent accuracy, but still the gun is doing nothing for him. He's still being attacked from all sides.

"You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling."

Arthur fights the urge to cringe at the smug voice, and he watches as Eames blasts apart the tanks behind which the last projection is hiding. Eames casually walks away, leaving Arthur frowning at his retreating back, thinking about how unfair it was that he was to be stuck with this man, and forcing aside any innuendos that have inconveniently sprung to mind.


	4. Situation Four

**Okay, so either this is the last one folks, or I can carry on with a few made up of my own, possibly with the including of a few loved characters…it's up to you. A review would be ****very nice**** thank you! Please let me know if you'd rather I continue, or are happy with these four. It's up to you, if I don't hear from you, I'll assume to worst!**

Situation Four

Arthur has always been an observant man. And he has observed that the fact of the matter is this:

Fighting trained projections in a rotating hallway alone is not easy.

To be honest, _nothing_ in a rotating hallway is easy.

Swinging another punch, Arthur slips off the ceiling and onto the wall, and he can feel his temper rising. _What the hell is Yusuf doing_? He both feels and hears his neck crack as the projection grabs him and flings him three metres with disconcerting ease. Arthur scrambles to his feet; he's biting his lower lip as he dives to the left just in time, but finds himself rolling too far thanks to another tilt in the hall's angle.

His breath is forced from his body as the projection smacks into his chest, and he gasps, forcing the bulky body off him.

If only he could…_bang_, gun in hand he allows one shake, one tremble, of released panic.

With a last puff of breath he lets himself fall to the floor, the projection unmoving. As, he notices with some small delight, is the hallway. Despite this small joy, he doesn't smile with glee, as much as he wishes he could. He slips back into the room where all his colleagues are – most inconveniently, he thinks to himself – fast asleep. Though perhaps that is unfair. They _are_ enduring the few delights of the subconscious of Eames right now, who knows where he's taken them…

Arthur stares for a minute at the seemingly lifeless bodies, all connect by the arm, and wonders for a moment why on earth he took to this job.

Oh yes, that's right.

Because he's a genius.

With the first kick missed, he feels himself being lifted weightless from the ground, and he glowers at the most unhelpful figures before him. He contemplates for a moment, and then leaps, well, _air-swims_ he thinks without amusement, into action. Limbs float, getting in the way and causing him to scowl.

The worst is Eames. Who knew the man could be so difficult even without the power of speech?

As he bundles his associates together, he wonders what he'll do after the Fischer job. He doubts very much that Dom will want to continue, he won't risk losing Phillipa and James after losing Mal, and so nearly losing them as well. Would that mean the end of _his_ career, too? He can't quite imagine working with anyone else.

As infuriatingly rash as Dom can be at times, he's the only person Arthur ever really felt comfortable working with. They knew their ways of thinking, front back, side to side, inside out, however you looked at it, Arthur and Dom were bound to know what the other's opinion was.

It was how they worked.

He wonders vaguely if he could find someone else to partner with, as he has done with Dom for so long. Ariadne would be first choice, of course, but he doubts she'll be quite so keen to continue. He already knows what she'll do. She'll go back to her old life, she'll convince herself dreams should remain dreams, and she'll find someone and try and find a white wedding, or at least a comfortable steady life.

And then will come the itch.

Oh, how well he knows that itch. The itch that catches you off your guard, he suffered it for only a few months before the dreams pulled him back in from his normal life. He was a slave to the dream world, fascinated by his paradoxes and his _non regretted rien_ and his kicks. Even the bullets to the head were worth it, and he'd had a few of those in his life.

He doesn't stop to consider just how odd that thought is.

And so as he races against the time he carries on with his job. As ever. Not panicking. Not worrying himself with the hundred or so _what if_s? that he could think of within a few seconds.

And definitely not amusing himself with the prospect of all the bodily damage he could inflict upon Eames so easily.


End file.
